


Hate. Want. Like.

by myloveiamthespeedofsound



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M, Romanogers Smut Week, Smut, Smut with some feels, Tennis AU if you want to be specific, idek anymore, seriously AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myloveiamthespeedofsound/pseuds/myloveiamthespeedofsound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is tennis' Golden Boy.  Natasha Romanoff is the black sheep.  She hates him, he wants her, and neither of them much likes losing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate. Want. Like.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Romanogers Smut Week. I entirely blame heyfrenchfreudiana and Chris Evan's Fila Tennis shoot.

**_HATE._ **

She loathes him.  America’s Golden Boy.  The front cover of every goddamn sports magazine for the past three years, talk show appearances, hell even a cameo in the latest big summer blockbuster.  Steve Rogers - making tennis cool again.  Steve Rogers - making tennis sexy again.  Steve fucking Rogers - making her want to throw up in her mouth.  God she wishes she could wipe the goddamn bashful grin off his face.  No one was  _ that _ goddamn wholesome and modest all the goddamn time.  No one won every tournament three years running and still acted like he was shocked by the whole thing.  

Jealous?  Damn right she was jealous. 

Natasha Romanoff worked her ass off and got one tenth the notoriety.  She knew she was just as good, just as ruthless on the courts as he was - but no one cared.  Not the way they cared about him.  He was the golden boy, she was plagued by controversy and tabloid fodder.  He dates an actress and they’re America’s Sweethearts until their tragic breakup.  She dates the wrong musician and her life become an endless barrage of bad publicity and blind items.

So maybe that’s how she ends up on the courts with him long after everyone else has left.  Maybe that’s what made her look at him with a sly smile and casually - but still with more than a hint of a challenge - suggest they play.  Maybe that’s why her blood absolutely boils when she realizes she’s losing.  

He’s stronger than her, but she’s faster.  They both take risks - hers are more cutthroat but his hit the mark more.  She hates him even more.  She grunts as her hands hit the asphalt as she misses another hard return.  She has one advantage though - she wants it more.  

She pushes herself up to her feet, dusts her hands off on the front of her skirt and retrieves the ball.

“We can call it,” he offers, and she shoots him a look at the sound of concern in his voice.  She tosses the ball up and serves it in his direction.   _ Hard.   _ It hits him just above his hip and he stumbles back.  “What the hell, Romanoff?” He snaps across the net and moves toward the bench he’d tossed his things on.  

“You quitting?” Natasha snaps back and stalks after him.  “Are you seriously quitting?”

“Yes!” He bites back and grabs a towel to wipe off his face.  “I don’t know what the hell your problem with me is but I’m not just going to take you firing balls at - “

His rant is cut off as she suddenly manhandles him back against the wall and he lets out a surprised grunt as his back hits it.  Whatever he might get out is swallowed as she presses her lips to his and all but shoves her tongue into his mouth.  It’s frantic, desperate, all tongue and teeth clashing for dominance - and as her hand slips without warning under the waist of his pants to palm at him, it’s one of the hottest things to have happened to him in recent memory.  

She drops to her knees and he groans as she deftly undoes his pants and pulls them down.  He’s fully erect and she hates him a little bit more for being well endowed on top of everything else - for the way her thoughts suddenly go to how it would feel to have him pick her up and fuck her senseless.  She pushes the thoughts aside and gives his length a few strokes with her hand before she takes him in her mouth, her eyes looking up at him the whole time.  Her goal?  Leave Steve fucking Rogers completely undone and useless on a tennis court no matter how she got there. 

He’s practically putty in her hands as her mouth works his cock and her tongue slides over the tip of him.  His hands thread into her hair and he doesn’t dare try to change her rhythm because what she’s doing on her own has him practically seeing stars behind his eyelids, but his fingers twist through the tresses and he tries to focus on  _ watching  _ her since she’s bound and determined it seems to watch him.  He’s had girls do down on him before but never like this.  Never with their eyes locked on his and a defiant glint, like she was winning some game he wasn’t even aware they were playing.   
  
“Jesus,” he breathes out and lets his head fall back as his body shudders with his orgasm - and it’s a damn good thing there’s a wall behind him because he’s fairly certain that’s the only way he’s keeping upright.  

Natasha tugs his pants back up, gives him a coy smile and reaches for his water bottle on the bench.  She takes a long drink and he can’t stop watching her lips around the mouth of the bottle.  She sets it back down, picks up her racket where she had dropped it and gives him a smug look.  “See you around, Rogers.”     
  
He realizes, as she all but  _ struts _ out of the court that he is entirely screwed.  

  
  


**_WANT._ **

He wants her.  Russia’s Bad Girl.  Nevermind she’s been American most her life, she still plays for her native country and you’d think it was the Cold War all over again the way some people act about that.  He’s watched her rise through the ranks - all controlled fire and fury on the court and he’s never really been into the women in his own sport, until then.  He tucks the thoughts away though and focuses on his own career, his own goals.  She’s practically the complete opposite of him and he doesn’t even think she’d give him the time of day.  More than that he’s fairly certain she hates him - the glares she shoots when she doesn’t think he’s watching, the not so thinly veiled comments she gives in interviews about the double standards in sports and he knows she hates that the press tends to focus on the male side more than the woman's.  He hates it too.

But he doesn’t hate her.  Well, no, that’s a lie.  He hates that he wants her.  He hates that now he has this image of her on her knees, impossibly perfect lips wrapped around his cock and he practically chokes on his water when she slides into the seat next to his at the latest press conference.  

She acts like nothing happened - which doesn’t surprise him.  But he all but butchers every question right out of the gate and he can’t stand the tiny, subtle, but still  _ there _ smug smirk she gives as he does.  He takes a long drink as another player on the circuit gets asked a question and gives himself a moment to think.  The table is cramped, too many people on too short of a space and their legs practically touch underneath it.  Steve lets his leg fall a little to the side to press against hers and watches her face out of the corner of his eye to gauge a reaction.  She stiffens.  He smirks.  He can do this.  If she wants to play?  Well, he can play.    
  
Steve casually lets a hand fall under the table, the reporters are thankfully busy grilling the other players.  He keeps his eyes forward but he can still see her in his peripheral.  His fingers dance over the skin of her knee, bare from the skirt she wore, and her lips press together slightly.  He runs his fingers, oh so lightly, further up her thigh, under the material of her skirt. She doesn’t make a move to stop him so he keeps going.  His hand slides between her thighs and he can see her pull her lower lip in between her teeth as he hits the material of her panties.  She’s damp already and the fact he did that to her in the middle of a goddamn press conference gives him a thrill.  He runs his thumb, still feather light, over the material and smiles a little to himself as she shifts a little, uncrossing her legs to give him better access.   
  
“Miss Romanoff?” A reporter calls out and Steve’s hand stills for a moment.   
  
She’s a goddamn pro and there’s barely a flicker of anything to indicate where his hand is as she lets her gaze fall on the reporter.  Steve’s sure his face is redder than a tomato and that he looks guilty as all hell.  He doesn’t move his hand though.  Pulling back feels like it would be letting her win.  He doesn’t want to let her win, not this one. He recovers quickly and starts to rub his thumb against the wet spot in her panties again.     
  
“I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on Vinny Mato’s comments he made in his Rolling Stone interview?” The reporter asks and Steve can feel Natasha stiffen beside him.  Vinny.  The rockstar ex who dragged her name through the mud and even though, from what Steve had heard at least, cheated on her for most of the relationship it was somehow Natasha who came out of it all looking like the villain.  He moves his hand back to her thigh, but doesn’t remove it.  Instead he runs his thumb gently against her skin, less a sexual touch and more a calming one.     
  
“No, I wouldn’t,” she says.  It’s not  _ cold _ necessarily, but it’s definitely not warm either.     
  
“What about where he says - “ the reporter pushes ahead regardless.

“I’m sorry, I thought this was a press conference to discuss our circuit, not what my ex might have insinuated in an interview that has absolutely nothing to do with tennis,” Natasha cuts him off and Steve can’t help the little smirk at her words.     
  
“Yes - but - “ the poor man keeps insisting.   
  
“But maybe you should look for another job because clearly hack reporter isn’t a good look on you,” Natasha interrupts, and that  _ is _ cold, her eyes narrowed.  Steve gives her thigh a little squeeze.     
  
“Now if anyone has any questions for me about my profession I’d love to hear them,” she states and gives the group a smile.  

The event dissipates fairly quickly after that and Natasha is the first to leave.  Steve quickly jumps up after her, despite a few last minute questions being hollered his way.  He pushes past his agent and catches up with Natasha just as she enters one of the elevators.  She glances up at him, slight confusion as to why he followed her.  He just hits the close door button before anyone else could get in and pushes her back against the wall.     
  
“That guy was an asshole,”  he mumbles against the skin of her neck as he drags an open mouth along her clavicle.     
  
“Which one?” She asks and lets out a soft moan as he starts to suck a mark on her skin.   
  
“All of them,” he states and fumbles for the stop button on the elevator panel.  His other hand moves back to run up along her thigh and under her skirt.  He drops to his knees and she hates that he does something to her right then as he looks up at her from under impossibly long eyelashes, as he turns his head to draw his mouth along the skin of the inside of her thigh and lets his fingers slip under her panties.  She moans as he drags a long digit through her cunt, she’s more than wet and she hates how turned on he’s getting her.     
  
Steve’s mouth moves upward and he pushes aside her panties with his free hand.  He slips a finger into her as his tongue darts out and licks a long line.  She grips the rail with one hand and lets the other slip into the short strands of his hair.     
  
“Fuck,” she draws out as he slips another finger into her and curls them to press against her inside walls.  His tongue flicks against her clit and she hates that he’s  _ good _ at this.  His fingers start to pump in and out of her, pushing in deep and it’s so much but not  _ enough _ .  She grinds against his face as he sucks at her clit and she’s not sure if he’s fucking her or she’s fucking him.  She honestly doesn’t care as he adds a third finger and that’s what pushes her over the edge.  Her hips buck against him in wild abandon and it’s probably a damn good thing the elevator is stuck between floors and soundproof as she cries out.     
  
“God I hate you,” she breathes out as she comes down, the damn asshole still has his head between her thighs, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thigh and she can feel his laughter against her skin.   
  
“I’m aware,” he replies and moves to his feet as he wipes his mouth on the back of his arm.  He leans across her and pushes the start button the elevator again and the button for the floor his room is on.     
  
He grins, she shoots him a glare.  “I’m serious, Rogers,” she insists.  “This doesn’t change anything, I can still hate people who go down on me in an elevator.”    
  
The elevator dings the arrival at the floor and Steve pushes himself off the wall and turns to face her as the doors open.  He grins again.  “Again, I’m aware.”  He gives her a little wave and walks out onto the floor.  “See you around, Romanoff.”

  
  


**_WANT PART DEUX._ **

It’s a battle.  It’s sex as a battle and it’s the hottest thing she’s ever been a part of if she’s honest.  They’d snuck out of the gala early and she’d dragged him to her room, she hadn’t expected to end up like  _ this _ \- she’d just thought she could make her next move in their game.  He’d upped the ante with the elevator encounter and she wanted her upper hand back.  Instead though they’re clashing for dominance as they all but rip each other’s clothes off, hands and mouths everywhere as they stumble toward the bedroom of her suite.  He stops her just before room and shoves her back against the doorframe, his hands move to grip at her thighs and lift her up.  She can feel his hard length press against her and she moans as she tries to get friction against him.  

He keeps one hand around her ass, holding her place as he pushes up against her and she can feel the metal of the door jam dig into her skin.  She doesn’t care.  His other hand tangles into her hair none too lightly and he looks at her with such  _ want _ that it goes right to her core.  “Tell me you want me,” he all but demands and she suddenly realizes that Steve fucking Rogers has some A game she wasn’t aware of.  Her lips twist into a smirk and she raises a brow.  She has A game too.     
  
“I hate you,” she says instead and reaches between them to stroke his cock.  She smirks, satisfied, as he groans lowly at the touch.  

He clashes her mouth to hers and moves them towards the bed.  She unwraps her legs from around his midsection and touches them to the mattress and she refuses to let him take control here.  So she pulls on him and tugs him off balance so he falls to the bed.  He seems to get what she wants and shifts to lay on his back as she crawls on top of him.  She reaches between them but he grabs her hand and pulls it back.  She raises a brow and he gives her a challenging grin. 

“Tell me you want me,” he repeats.     
  
“You’re the worst,” she hisses.     
  
His free hand moves between her legs and he rubs his thumb over her swollen center.  “Tell me you want me,” he insists again.     
  
“No.”  She wants to slap his hand away but fuck it he’s not hitting her just right with his thumb and she tries to twist her hand out of his grip but it’s to no avail.  She grinds against him, desperate for the pressure, desperate to feel his cock deep inside of her.  Her hand not currently in his grip moves to his length, thinking that two could play at that game.  He stops his ministrations against the bundle of nerves between her legs and grabs her other hand.  

They stare at each other, neither one wanting to back down.  He has his hands wrapped tight around both her wrists but she grinds her hips against him, a smug smirk on her lips as he moans.  “I don’t want you,” she says evenly, even if it’s a bold face lie right then.  She rolls her hips forward and moans as her clit rubs against the hard length of his cock.  She aches though, to feel him in her, to ride him until they both topple over the edge. 

She twists a hand in his grip again and this time he gives.  She slips it between them and guides him into her, she sinks down slowly on his length and bites her lower lip as she adjusts to the size of him.  His hands move to her hips as she starts to roll her hips, testing the waters before she starts to quicken her pace.  Her hands press against his chest for leverage as she rides him and she lets her head fall back with a moan.  She hates that he feels  _ so good. _  Hates that he fills her up the way he does.     
  
Steve can barely think straight as her hips roll and she bounces up and down on his cock.  It’s been ages since he last had sex, since his last girlfriend and this is not what he usually does.  He doesn’t usually get blow jobs on the tennis court, or go down on a girl in an elevator, and he sure as hell doesn’t sleep with someone he’s not dating.  But God she drives him insane and he lifts himself up to try to wrap his arms around her back.  He doesn’t get far though before she  _ shoves _ him back on the bed.  Usually he’d be okay with his partner wanting to take control - but everything about her is different, especially the way he reacts.  It’s a game, she’s made that clear.  And they both want to win.

He tries again to lift himself up, and she shoves him back once more, a smirk crossing her lips.  He lets her have it for a moment, just long enough for her to lull herself into a false sense of security.  He moves quick, lifts himself up and wraps his arm around her back as he flips them over.  She makes a noise of protest that quickly shifts to a moan of pleasure as he thrusts into her, hard and deep.  “You want me,”  he states as he grips one of her thighs and lifts her leg up against his shoulder.  

The noises she makes as he pushes into her even deeper answer for her and he grins.  He’s so damn close and he’s pretty sure she is as he can feel her inner muscles start to clench and spasm around him.  He keeps a hard and frantic pace as his climax follows hers.  It’s a mess of moans and swears and they’re both still breathing heavy as he falls off of her and flops to his back beside her.  

“Jesus,” he breathes out and stares up at the ceiling.  He can barely think straight, see straight.     
  
They lay like that for a few minutes before Natasha leans over the edge of the bed to open the mini fridge built into the nightstand.  She tosses Steve a bottle of water and sets another on the nightstand for herself.   
  
“You still hate me?” He asks her as he catches the bottle.

“Yep,” she replies and moves to lay up against the headboard and hands him one of the snickers bars she’d grabbed.     
  
Steve tugs the duvet folded on the end of the bed up and over them and gives her a grin.  “Good to know.  He opens his water and takes a drink as Natasha turns the tv onto some late night show.  She grabs her water and moves to snuggle into his side.  

  
  


**_LIKE._ **

She hates him because she wants him.  She hates him because whatever little game they’re playing - he’s currently winning.  She hates him because all she can think about is his hands all over her body, fingers deep in her cunt.  She watches him play from the sidelines and all she can focus on is his fingers wrapped tight around the handle of his racket, the same fingers that he’d slipped into her in the elevator.  The same fingers she thinks about every night as she lets her own slide between her legs and hates herself for picturing him as she brings herself to the edge.  She hates the little smiles he gives her now, those little knowing looks.  She hates that she finds reasons to be in his space - that she gravitates towards him at circuit events.  She hates that he’s actually  _ fun. _  That he makes her laugh and makes her feel good about herself in a way she hasn’t felt in a while.  She hates him for not being the person she thought he was.  Most she hates him because she doesn’t hate him at all.  She hates him for making her kind of like him.

  
Where she would once revel in watching him slip up and lose a game, there’s a frustration  _ for _ him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach not unlike the kind she feels when she looses herself.  Sympathy, empathy, she feels awful because  _ he _ feels awful - and as he walks off the court after shaking hands with the victor she pauses for only a few minutes before she goes after him.  She finds him in his dressing room and after a quick glance from her to Steve and a nod from the latter, his manager leaves the two of them alone.     
  
She knows there’s nothing much to say.  He’s like her - driven and focused, and entirely one to beat themselves up when they know they  _ should _ have won.  

“Don’t you play soon?” He asks her as he flops down on the couch in the room.   
  
“I’ve got time,” she says as she moves towards him and steps into his space.  She leans down and rakes her hands through his hair.  He lets his head tilt forward and rest against her midsection as he wraps his arms around her and heaves a heavy sigh.  Before she even realizes what she’s doing she’s kissing the top of his head and then sinking to straddle his lap as her lips meet his.  It’s different than the other times they’ve kissed.  Less a battle and more a meeting.  Passionate but without the fight for dominance as they read each other instead of fighting each other.  His hands slip up under her shirt and tug her in closer.  

She reaches between them to tug it off and claims his lips again as she drops the garment to the floor.  His hands roam the bare skin of her back, fumble for a moment and then unclasps her bra and pulls it off of her.  He lets his mouth travel down her neck and along the bare skin of her shoulders as her hands tug at the hem of his shirt.  He moves away from her slightly so she can tug it off and their eyes meet as his hands move back to her skin.  He trails fingers up her stomach and then palms at her breasts before he moves his mouth to latch onto one of her nipples.  She lets out a soft moan as he sucks and then swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub.  

She climbs off of him and he stands so they can quickly discard their pants and underwear before they move back to where they were.  He wants to take his time now that she doesn’t seem determined to fight him at every turn - but she plays in an hour and he’s not about to jeopardize that.  So he doesn’t fight  _ her _ when she reaches between them to guide his length into her.  He’s already hard and she’s already wet enough to make it work as she starts to roll her hips.  It’s slow, but deliberate, and they move  _ together _ this time.  He meets her and she meets him.  Her hands move to the back of the couch for support and Steve reaches one of his up to lace his fingers through hers, the other moves to the space between them and rub at her clit.  

Her head ducks down to kiss him, and their tongues slide over each others as they just  _ enjoy _ the pleasure of coming together.  He comes first, with her name a prayer on his lips and she keeps rolling her hips as he tries to focus through his own orgasm and keep his thumb circling her clit to bring her over the edge as well.  “God, Steve…” she breathes out and leans into him heavily as their bodies shudder with pleasure.  They’re quiet for a moment, he presses soft kisses to the side of her neck and lets his fingers run through her hair.  

“Come watch me play?” She asks, her lips brushing against the skin of his chest as she talks.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he assures her.  She sits up and kisses him, slow and with the promise of something more later, before she crawls off his lap.  They pick up their clothes and get dressed again as they sneak little glances at each other with small smiles.  

“You still hate me?” He asks as he walks her to the door and spins her to face him before she leaves.  

Her hands fist around the material of his shirt and she grins as she looks up at him.  She leans up on her toes and gives him a quick kiss.  “Damn right I do,” she says but it’s anything but serious.  Steve grins at that and steals one more kiss before she turns and leaves the dressing room.


End file.
